


Waiting for Exho

by battleofthesurfraces



Series: gonna get you right [1]
Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Gen, M/M, atp finals 2019, can't believe I'm writing gen lol, it's there in my head though, my favourite pseudo father-son pair!!!, saschanos subtext, so little fedal subtext I took it out the slash tab, south america exho tour 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:20:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21552934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/battleofthesurfraces/pseuds/battleofthesurfraces
Summary: Sascha and Roger wait for a plane, and watch the ATP Finals final together. They both have some thoughts on curses and rivalry, and bond in a pseudo father-son, intergenerational, successful tennis players kinda way.
Relationships: Roger Federer & Alexander Zverev, Roger Federer & Rafael Nadal, Stefanos Tsitsipas/Alexander Zverev
Series: gonna get you right [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1593283
Comments: 1
Kudos: 55





	Waiting for Exho

They’d been waiting for the plane for about twenty minutes, watching the match on Sascha’s iPad, when Domi hits Stefanos’s 100mph serve out wide and the newly minted ATP finals champion crumples to the floor. Sascha had been biting his nails for precisely 18 of those minutes, and now leaps to his feet with a groan, flopping his long arms in the air in annoyance, inadvertently mirroring the man on the screen. Roger raises an eyebrow at him in bemusement, eyes still glued to the iPad, now showing the two finalists hugging at the net.

“That was a good match.” It’s an intentional understatement.

Sascha sighs and sits back down, slightly melodramatically.

“I know, I just… wanted Domi to win.”

“Or wanted Tsitsipas to lose?” Sascha huffs out a frustrated semi-laugh.

“… Maybe. If I couldn’t defend it, Domi deserves a title like that. Stefanos hasn’t even won anything above a Masters 250.” If he had a racquet in his hand right now, he kind of feels like he’d smash it on the floor. Which is ludicrous, it wasn’t even his match to lose.

“Well he has now- he played really well, all week. Can’t deny that.”

“Hmph.”

“I thought you two got closer during Laver Cup?"

“Yeah, that was before he nicked my title.”

Roger glances at Sascha, whose face is quirked into a petulant smirk- even he doesn’t really believe what he’s saying. Sascha’s still watching as on-screen Stefanos conducts a rambling post-match interview, eyes soft as the Greek gently trips over his words. Flustered by the win, Stef writes “Bring me with you” on the monitor and beside him, Roger can feel Sascha tense. The younger man jiggles his legs impatiently, bent over his knees and picking at the seam of his track pants, wound up in the same way as he gets before double faulting. After a few minutes of just the tinny sound of the iPad speaker, Roger takes pity on him.

“You know… they say the ATP finals title is cursed.” Sascha huffs out a laugh, cuts his eyes over to where Roger’s smiling kindly at him, leans back into his seat, left leg still bouncing up and down.

“Well, you never got cursed.”

“No, I don’t get cursed."

“Ha, no, you just get older.”

“Hey!” Roger throws one of the tennis balls they’d been signing before the match at him. Sascha grabs it out the air and tosses it between his hands a couple of times, eyes tracing the expressive loops of Roger’s signature.

“So… I’ve passed the curse on?”

“Yes, I think so. Expert opinion."

“To… him?” Sascha gestures at the screen. Roger throws both his hands into the air in an emphatic shrug, folds his arms, kicks out his legs and leans back into a slouch. Resting his head on the wall behind his chair, he turns his head towards the younger man. Sascha just groans and rubs his hands over his face.

“It’s been a long year. I don’t think I’d wish it on him.”

“Yeah.” Roger sounds understanding, and Sascha comforts himself with the fact that at least he didn't lose championship point at a Grand Slam this year.

“Thanks for inviting me this week, it means a lot.” Sascha kind of wants to scream, curl into a ball, cry onto Roger’s probably-insured-for-a-million-euros shoulder. But the season’s over, and he’s got a 14 hour flight ahead of him, which he doesn’t want to spend awkwardly dehydrated.

“No worries, I’m glad you could come.” Roger reaches out to give a comforting pat to Sascha’s knee, pausing to still its nervous jumping. They sit in silence for a couple more minutes, watching the retirement ceremony play out. The look on Roger’s face as Berdych and Ferrer clap their video montage makes Sascha feel slightly bad about the age joke.

And then… there’s the trophy. The biggest trophy Sascha owns, the one he loves the best, and Stefanos, bathed in blue confetti, is awkwardly lifting it above his head. His speech is kind, and sincere, and long - he makes Domi chuckle and, god, Sascha just doesn’t know what to do, how to feel. He’s bitterly, bitterly jealous - of the trophy, of Stef’s unflinching self-confidence, of his ability to actually grow decent facial hair - and he’s also so endeared to the guy who writes weird shit on the tv monitor and is now screaming in childish glee along with the ball kids. He’s certain Roger can read every minutiae of his conflict all over his face.

“He’s a good kid, Sascha. You don’t have to hate your rivals, you know.” Sascha scrunches up his face a little, intrigued.

“Did you ever even try?”

“With Rafa?” Sascha nods, and Roger shakes his head, looking down at his lap, hands fiddling with a second tennis ball. “No, even at the beginning, Rafa was never the kind of person I could dislike. When he was a kid, he could barely speak English, but he could speak tennis in a way I’d never found, in all my years of playing. The way he thinks, how he plays, how he fights and adapts, I could see that. And I was number one in the world, and I was looking for someone- someone to challenge me, to keep me going, to keep me fighting, and improving. And then, there he was. Better than that, he was warm, and generous, and kind. He still is. I look back on it and it’s almost a dream, what we became.

“It’s part of it, the rivalries. You have to lean into them. He made me better. At all of it.” Roger smiles unseeingly at the screen, then tosses the ball into the air and catches it with his other hand, shaking himself out of his thoughts.

“Of course, once Novak arrived on the scene I got a bit fed up of losing.” Roger smirks at Sascha, who, grateful and somewhat awed that his oldest idol is oversharing quite so much with him, can only smile tentatively back.

“You’d won multiple Grand Slams by then, been world number one. I haven’t done any of that.”

“You’ll get there, Alex. With or without him. But it’s nice to have people on your side, even across the net.” Sascha scowls and slides down in his seat, fiddling with his phone. Roger frowns contemplatively at the blank iPad that’s still resting against the chair in front of them.

“‘Bring me with you’?”

“Ha, yeah, I think he wants in on this father-son bonding thing we’ve got going on.”

“Hm. He called you handsome, tall and appealing, at Laver Cup."

“Yes. That he did.” Roger narrows his eyes. Not a topic to broach today, then.

The plane is ready within another five minutes, which they spend in companionable silence, Sascha studiously not checking Instagram for any potential ATP finals-related updates and Roger surreptitiously searching Twitter for Stefanos’s Laver Cup speech, which culminates in him googling the lyrics to Usher’s “DJ Got Us Falling in Love”.

Just before take off, Sascha texts Domi:

“Amazing match, bummed for you man. Holidays + 2020 here we come 🐧💪🏻🏝".

He hesitates, then shoots off another message, to a number he’s had stored in his phone since September (“In case we all get split up.” Roger had joked, the night of their Laver Cup win), but has never used:

“A worthy successor 👍🏻🎾🏆"

And then, he takes a deep breath, steels his nerves, and sends a follow up:

“I’ll bring you with me next time ✈️🤞🏻"

He can’t wait for **that** exhibition tour.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: alas, this is fiction. 
> 
> Also if the emojis don't work:  
> 1st message (to Domi): penguin, bicep, paradise island  
> 2nd message (to Stef): thumbs up, tennis ball, trophy  
> 3rd message (to Stef): plane, fingers crossed
> 
> Please give kudos and comment if you enjoyed :)


End file.
